


Slicing with a Silver Blade

by luvscharlie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bloodplay, Cutting, Dark, Drug Addiction, F/M, Fanfiction, Gen, Knifeplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-08
Updated: 2010-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-12 12:59:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvscharlie/pseuds/luvscharlie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester has an addiction… a justified one, or so he tells himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slicing with a Silver Blade

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Blood play, knife play, erotic(?) cutting, rather dark and graphic, references to drug use and addiction, Spoilers through Season 4
> 
> Author's Notes: Takes place in Season 4, but some time prior to the Season 4 Finale, Lucifer Rising.  
> Originally written for fandom_fridays on Live Journal where the prompt was, "The first cut is the deepest."

I do my best to maintain my self-control. I don't _want_ to need it so badly. But I do. Demon blood has become my drug of choice. I used to see drug addicts or alcoholics and think to myself what selfish bastards they were. They sit by and watch their families torn a part, their lives fall to pieces… and all for what? For that next fix, those few moments of high. And now, I'm no better than any of them. Sam Winchester, Blood Junkie. That's me.

My every waking moment is consumed by thoughts of how much I need it, how much I want it, and all the many things I would do just to taste the metallic, sweetness rush into my mouth, and over my tongue once more. Then I get it, savoring the power that I suck from that blood and it's over, and I'm right back to needing it… most desperately… once again.

I don't want to call Ruby. It really is the last resort. But I need her. Need her more than I've ever needed anyone… except Dean. And oh, if he found out. He would never understand. I'm doing this for us, for all of us, but he'll never see it that way. This makes me stronger, and if we're going to defeat Lilith, then I need to be as strong as I can be. But I don't think Dean will ever understand what this does for me.

It kills me to think he won't understand; that he won't see that this really is for the best. I think he might be a little jealous of what I can do, the things I learned when he went away to Hell. I do have powers, and I want to use them to help us, but Dean doesn't believe that what I'm doing is the right thing. He seems to think the demon blood inside of me is taking over. If he only knew how close (yet far) he really is to the truth. He's a lot like Dad was, only sees one way to do things. But me, well I have gifts, abilities, if you will, and maybe they're not all that easy to understand, but I don't see any reason not to use what we have—and I have something that could kill Lilith. I just have to get stronger… and I need the blood for that.

I no longer think of ways to kill demons that don't involve a knife. I need them to bleed for me now. There's also a scary new desire to watch my blade pierce the skin they wear, see the blood pour red as it dribbles down from the cuts that I slice into them. I love the euphoric feeling that comes as I slide my tongue over their perfect skin, (skin which doesn't truly belong to them anyway, though that's probably little in the way of justification), marred now by my blade, lapping up every drop of that power their blood holds.

And I do it all for us, Dean and I. All to make me stronger, so that I can save us all… it's for the greater good… even if I fear Dean wouldn't be able to see that.

Or so I tell myself it's for the greater good; it's easier that way. I say it over and over in my head, as though if said often enough, it might make it so. I do this ritual of convincing myself every time the silver blade of my knife slices into a demon, and my mouth fastens over the cut, sucking my strength from them, savoring the power, and getting my next fix—which I've come to so desperately need.

And with each lick of my tongue across the deeply gashed skin, I feel guilty… just another addict, a voice inside me says, though I do my best to quash it. I've gotten rather good at ignoring that nagging bit of conscience. In fact, I hardly think about it as I make the first slice into a new demon's skin and prepare to drink myself stronger... for us... for everyone... for the greater good. And I begin the cycle of lying to myself all over again.


End file.
